I get home. Then you can come and crash for the weekend.’
Chantal had arrived at the table, and a soft smile tugged at her lips. Was that because she’d had good news, or because she’d caught him playing big brother? He finished up his call with Ellen and shoved the phone into his pocket.
‘You’re still here.’
Her voice broke through the ambient noise of the café.
‘Of course I’m still here. I said I would be.’
She hovered by the edge of the table, hands twisting in front of her.
‘You don’t need an invitation,’ he said, but he stood anyway and drew back the seat next to him so she could sit down. ‘How did it go?’
‘I don’t know. It felt good.’ She shook her head and sat, tucking her feet up underneath her. ‘But that doesn’t always mean anything. They said they’ll get back to me.’
‘I’m sure you were amazing.’ He reached out and grabbed her hand, giving it a soft squeeze.
‘Amazing doesn’t always cut it.’
‘It doesn’t?’
‘No. You can’t just be a great dancer—you have to look right, have the right style…’ Her cheeks were stained pink and she rubbed her hands over her face. ‘These are the big guns too. They didn’t even open up for auditions last year.’
Her breath came out irregular—too fast, too shallow. He could see her mind whirring behind those beautiful soulful eyes. He could see the doubt painted across her face. He could imagine the words she didn’t say aloud. I hope it was enough. I hope I was enough.
Instead she said, ‘Some days I wonder if it’s worth it.’
‘Of course it’s worth it.’
How could she say something like that? People would kill for her talent.
‘Easy for you to say—you’re not the one up there, putting yourself out for every man and his dog to judge you.’
‘People judge each other every day,’ Brodie pointed out. ‘You don’t need a stage for that.’
She smiled, her shoulders relaxing as she loosened her hair. The dark strands fell around her shoulders, golden ends glinting in the sun streaming through the café’s window. ‘Is that a dig at me?’
‘It might be.’
He flagged down a waitress and ordered Chantal a coffee. They watched each other for a moment like two dogs circling. Wary. Charged.
‘Because I think you lead a charmed life?’
‘Because you don’t think I work for it.’ He took a long swig from his water bottle. ‘I do.’
‘I know you work for it. But you have to admit you seem to land on your feet, no matter what.’
‘And you don’t?’ He raked a hand through his hair.
‘No, I don’t.’
She let out a hollow laugh and the sound made him want to pull her tight against him.
‘You have no idea what it’s been like the last few years.’
‘So tell me?’
Silence. Perhaps she didn’t expect him to care. Chantal paused while the waitress set down her coffee. She cradled the cup in her small hands, blowing at the steam.
When she stayed quiet he changed tactic. ‘How come you never called?’
‘You never called either.’
She sipped her drink and set the cup down on the table. For a moment the view of the pier had her attention, and the tension melted from her face.
‘I wasn’t exactly keen to share that my career was going down the gurgler. Why else would I have called?’
‘Because we’re friends, Chantal, despite how it ended.’
‘You’re right.’ She nodded. ‘Friends.’
God, he wanted to kiss her. She was sex on legs. Perfection.
‘Friends who have the hots for each other.’
‘I don’t have the hots for you,’ she protested, but her cheeks flamed crimson and her gaze locked onto some invisible spot on the ground.
‘How about you look me in the eye when you say that?’
‘Okay—fine. You’re kind of a hottie.’ Red, redder, reddest. She still didn’t look up. ‘But you’re not my type.’
‘What’s your type?’
‘Tall, dark and handsome?’ she quipped with a wave of her hand. ‘No guys are my type at the moment. I have this little thing called a career that needs saving.’
‘It’s not that you don’t have time for guys—you just don’t have time for relationships.’ Brodie rolled the idea around in his head. ‘Maybe what you need is a little no-strings tension-reliever.’
‘Is that what the kids are calling it these days?’ She raised a brow at him and traced the edge of her coffee cup with a fingertip.
‘Doesn’t matter what it’s called so long as it feels good.’
‘I’m not a hedonist like you, Brodie. There are more important things in life than pleasure. I need my focus at the moment.’
‘Perhaps… But don’t you think you could do with a little pleasure right now?’
He reached out and cupped the side of her face. Their knees touched under the table and he could feel the heat radiating from her.
Her dark lashes fluttered. He wasn’t going to kiss her again—not yet. She’d run scared if he pushed too hard too soon… But he would draw her in. Relax her boundaries. Give her space to let her guard drop.
Then he would have her.
LATER THAT EVENING Chantal and Brodie wandered around The Rocks. To anyone else they might have looked like two people who’d been together forever. Behind the bridge the sun had set, streaking the sky with rich shades of gold, pink and red. Sydney was ready for a night out, glittering and looking its absolute best in the balmy air.
Brodie looked as though he belonged with the glamorous city crowd—as he did with any scene he joined. He had the ability to melt into a group of people no matter who they were. Rich clients, hard-working staff, children—he charmed them all. She’d seen it first hand at Weeping Reef. No wonder he’d done so well with his business.
